The Red Ringsmith
by avtorSola
Summary: Sauron taught the Elves of Eregion how to make Rings of Power. But this is not fully true. There was another who was charged with making Middle Earth safe for Elves to live freely, and with Sauron's betrayal the task failed. But Iluvatar bade that the work be finished. And so the Ringsmith returns to complete the task abandoned near five thousand years ago. LIKELY DISCONTINUED
1. Prologue - Disembarking

_**A/N:**_ Okay, I bit. I will try to do Tolkien justice. Hopefully not _exactly_ Tenth Walker, per se. Somewhat AU-ish, sorta – I am using ideas from the Simarillion and changing them a good deal.

Also, I know I'm supposed to be writing the second part of my Seventh Stone Universe. Blame the plot bunnies. But for this reason, this story will have slow updates.

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 ** _Prologue - Disembarking_**

It took several centuries to convince her kin that she was leaving, but once she did prevail upon them she found that she did not wish to go. Ever had she been safe under her brother's watchful eye, and ever had she sang with the gayer of her closest companions to forget the pain which the darkness had brought her in the Second Age. Yet it was Iluvatar's will that she face those whom had wronged her, to right the injustice done to those who through her gifts had come to harm, and though she trembled, she obeyed.

The ship that bore her over the ocean seemed likewise reluctant to bear her to the land on which her blood was twined with evil against her will. The grey bark of the living wood on which she sailed creaked as she approached the twilighted shores, a vigilant protest against the idea of placing herself in harm's way. But she smiled, the expression playing about her thin lips in a mockery of something once peaceful and serene. Melkor's betrayal and the subsequent sway he'd gained over the lesser Maiar, turning them from the light, had wounded her deeply.

 _The meaning was twisted. My work was left unfinished. And now, I must correct it._

Silently as the luminous stars of her eyes, the ship yielded to her will and she stepped for the second time onto the beaches of a land long bereft of her presence. A flame, kindled by the breath from her lips, gleamed from the long mast of her vessel, a ghostly white light much akin to the glow perusing over the folds in the rippling linens she had clothed herself in. A long sigh escaped her, and as she pushed her ship back out onto Ulmo's seas, she thought.

 _So I shall practice my craft once more._

Fire rippled on the surface of the water, and silver and gold gleamed in the dampened sand at her feet. She looked, then knelt and took the stones in gentle fingers, wrapping them in soft cloths before placing them in the satchel on her back. Any gift, she knew, from both Lord of the Deep Seas and the Lord of the Fabric of the Earth was not something to be taken without deep respect, and these she treasured duly, understanding their healing purpose.

And thus the light of Teleperion and Laurelin gleamed bright in her eye.

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Please Review (They're so incredibly helpful!)


	2. Some Years Ago

**A/N:** To answer anyone's scornful questions (which thankfully have been left unspoken until this point), I don't know if this will have any romance. I don't want this to be a Mary Sue, or a cliche OC insert. Please tell me if you think I will run the risk of doing that, so I can revise. Thanks!

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Elves were well known to be patient, wise, calm creatures among those learned in their ways, and while many among the elves proved this long-known epithet true, there were a select few among whom such traits were relatively well hidden by the mirth of unending childishness.

"Ai, Estel, must you always do this to us?"

The voice was fair, a gentle cry of mirth rising to the heavens, and with a delighted squeal of laughter a small child darted down a flowing path, his short legs a stilted blur amidst the crisp fallen leaves strewn about like scarlet snowflakes on the stone. A pair of tall elves strode along behind him, their steps easy and light, an effortless match to the scramble the young boy was making. Every few paces the little boy would pause, breathless with laughter, and immediately the two elves pursuing him would stop in their tracks and puff out their cheeks, pretending to be extraordinarily tired until the child turned back around and scampered off again, giggling over the apparent speed he possessed compared to his elven caretakers. Only then would they straighten themselves up and flit lightly towards their adopted brother, smiling in paroxysms of benevolent love.

Suddenly, the little boy turned around the curling corner of a nearby stone building and disappeared from their line of sight. The twin elves started in surprise and sped up the faintest amount, hurrying to catch the child in their sight once again. Yet when they rounded the corner, coming up underneath the high silver awning with as much grace as could be mustered, the young boy was gone from the open hall.

"Elrohir, I think I shall fault you if Estel manages to avoid his bath again."

The younger of the two twins gifted his brother with a dark look, a scowl on his face and a curse on his teeth.

"You were in fact the one who suggested that we may enjoy a walk before the little one's bath." Elrohir reminded his twin with a touch of testy impatience. Elladan merely smiled back at him and leapt forward, racing down the long hall with barely a glance back.

"And you were the one who suggested that the walk become a race." He countered smoothly, at ease now that the blame had been squarely delivered onto his brother's shoulders. Elrohir groaned.

"Ada will blame us both." He sighed, springing lightly after his brother. Elladan only sped up. The last time that Elrond had scolded them for mishandling their human brother, their ear tips had been as scarlet as the leaves on the ground for near three weeks.

Up on the silvered awning, Estel laughed and giggled to himself as his elder brothers ran off in search of him, then turned round to face the third elf who held his chubby waist between secure fingers.

"We tricksed my bwothers!" he cheered, causing this newer elf to smile, a glint of mischief in his bright eyes.

"Aye, that we did." He said slyly, standing and picking the small boy up in his arms. "And now, off to the baths with you, Estel!"

The dark-haired toddler froze, then began to squirm valiantly.

"No. I don't wanna!" he said stubbornly. "Lemme go, lemme go!"

The bright-eyed elf leapt nimbly into the branches of a nearby tree and swung effortlessly down to the ground despite the weight of the little boy on his hip, a light shining from the smile still dawning cheerily on his youthful face.

"Now, Estel, you do want to play with bubbles, yes? And think how surprised your brothers would be when they return from all their tiresome searching to find you as clean as the water of the Bruinen!" he asked, darting through several nearby doorways as he made his way to the small child's room. Estel went still then, pouting slightly, but nodded into the elf's soft, fine hair, curiously touching the pale gold braids with his pudgy baby fingers. Many of the elves whom he passed on his way to the little boy's room smiled at the pair, nodding respectfully as the Woodland Prince passed them by with long strides.

"Thranduilion." Some murmured, their tones quiet enough to be of no disturbance to the small child balanced on the prince's hip, and he nodded discreetly back to them, still speaking to Estel in rapid Sindarin. It wouldn't do for the little one to be enticed by the thought of playing elsewhere when he'd just been coaxed into bathing. Yet the Valar had chosen to take pity on the Sindar prince and he arrived at Estel's nursery with no trouble, delivering the small boy into his foster father's waiting arms with a relieved smile.

"Lord Elrond, I seem to have discovered an errant son of yours." He declared, holding Estel out to the wise Noldor by the waist. Estel squealed and grasped at the front of the prince's earthy tunic, laughing all the while.

"No, Leg'las, no!" he pleaded, giggling. "Ada's gonna be mad! Ada's gonna be mad because I los' my bwothers!"

Elrond pretended to be quite beside himself for just a moment, and he stared sternly down at the little boy, his lips twitching upwards.

"Estel, do you mean to say that you have misplaced Elladan and Elrohir again?" he asked, exchanging a highly amused glance with the blonde elf currently attempting to detach the human child's little fingers from the front of his tunic. "Ai, child, I have told you that your brothers need looking after, and yet you always do this."

Estel burst into shrieks of laughter as Elrond gathered him up into a strong grasp, rescuing the struggling prince from his wayward adopted child.

"Ah well. Into the bath with you!" Elrond said, his tone mock-angry. Then he turned to Legolas, his wise grey twinkling with mixed mirth and thanks.

"I fear I must thank you for your aid before welcoming you into my halls, Legolas." He said softly, and blonde elf shook his head, laughing.

"It is always a pleasure to greet such a happy child, Lord Elrond." Legolas replied, the laughter on his face not yet dying away. "I confess I went straight for him once I heard his voice!"

Elrond smiled back, once again reminded that Legolas had been an elfling himself just shy of two millennia ago, and that he still carried that effervescent youth bubbling in the light of his face. Despite the darkness of Greenwood the Great – better known as Mirkwood as of late – and the renowned skill which the young prince was said to have with a bow and blade, he still remained brimming with gaiety. It was a feat which few elves in the darkening times could match. With this in mind Elrond sent the prince on his way, bidding him to rest and revive himself, for to make the journey from Thranduil's palaces in Greenwood to the lush valley of Rivendell was no small feat with orcs freely roaming over the emptier lands.

He himself had a difficult task to complete.

"Estel, it's bathtime."

"But Ada!"

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It took very little time for Legolas to find the room in which Elrond had doubtless given him for the duration of his stay in Rivendell, and without the faintest traces of exhaustion he settled himself onto the bed, gazing out the wide window at the gnarled oak beside the curtains. A faint smile tinged his lips into cheer as the tree whispered words of joyful greeting to him, relishing that a Wood-elf had come to speak with the forest at long last. He reached through the glassless window, rubbing the fresh grey bark of the tree, and murmured words to it, enjoying the easy conversation as one of life's simplest pleasures. The tree informed him in its slow manner of all the sorts of birds who took refuge in the old branches, including a series of scalding comments about the nature of the feathered creatures that relieved themselves on its bark. Legolas found himself grinning widely, and with the politest of thanks to the old tree he sat up and proceeded to cleanse himself from the grime and dust of his travels in the adjoining bathroom.

Some minutes later he had once again dressed, this time in a plain brocade tunic of cheerful pale green embroidered with glistening silver, a sheathed dagger riding the belt at his waist, the mithril crown of Greenwood left abandoned on the table by his bedside. He glanced at it with a spark of worry in his gaze, but the distance between he and his father had grown in the most recent of years, and he no longer wished to proclaim his birth to every elf he met. It was not his father's fault that the distance had grown, but rather the fault of the circumstance which had deemed that Legolas's talent as a warrior was necessary for the survival of Greenwood. Thranduil had already lost his wife, so losing his eldest child would be the finishing blow. Thus the father and son had allowed the distance between them to grow, slowly and surely, if only to prevent the elves of Greenwood from losing both a king and a prince in one fell sweep.

These were Legolas's thoughts as he descended one of the many marble staircases carved into Elrond's houses, gloomy thoughts which scarcely belonged on his fair face. Those among the elves who knew him well would be appalled by the sorrow staining his features, for ever had he been the most lighthearted of all elves even in the darkest of situations. Yet he loved his father dearly, and despite the personality quirks which caused them to clash at times, he would give anything to see his parent happy and hale. Then the Woodland Prince shook himself, firmly casting aside such unhappy thoughts. The darkness would be driven out and he would see his father again in love and joy. For his own peace of mind, he must believe so.

So caught up was he in his inner musings, he hardly noticed when he stepped out from within the fair architecture of Rivendell and entered its landscaped gardens, all of which were rich with deep fall greens. He followed the wider paths among these until he had walked out of Imladris entirely, so lost in his pondering that he even failed to take note of the figure robed all in shades of brown and red that came running up the forested road into Imladris.

The trees' voices shook with laughter as the prince stepped directly into the hooded figure's path and fell with a cry as the two collided in a rush of pale green and scarlet. Legolas rolled when he hit the earth, a habit from long years of battle, then looked over with consternation only to see that the mysterious second figure had already stood back up. The hooded figure extended a hand then, the breeze whistling between the strong, calloused fingers.

"I do think I owe you an apology." The cloaked figure said, and Legolas started in surprise to hear that the voice was distinctly feminine, though unusually harsh. With hands so rough and work-worn, he had not entirely expected a lady's lighter notes. Yet nonetheless he took the offered hand and the unknown girl pulled him to his feet with a surprisingly vicious tug.

"Nay, you owe nothing of the sort." He replied good-naturedly, somewhat sheepish about the whole incident. "I was the one who was not watching where I was going. I do apologize, my lady."

A somewhat rough chuckle escaped the woman's mouth, and she pulled her hood back to reveal her face. Legolas blinked, trying to hide his surprise, but he must have been unsuccessful for the elleth – for he could say that definitively about her now – only laughed her rusty laugh again.

Her eyes were _violet_ , the color a rich, dark grape that seemed more fit for a king's robe than for a living being's eyes, and both burned with a light which Legolas had not remembered seeing ever before.

"My gaze is a bit eerie, is it not?" she asked, and though no smile touched her lips Legolas knew that she was amused. He tipped his head to the side, then sighed and nodded bluntly, choosing to employ his father's style of diplomacy if only for a brief moment.

"Yes, my lady, so it is an unusual stare." He said to her. "Yet eerie is too negative a word, I think."

The elleth seemed to consider for a moment, then seemed to accept the statement as harmless, and she stepped slightly further towards Imladris's wide stone gates, her expression vaguely curious. Legolas made no move to follow her, assuming that she was merely a warrioress rarely seen on his previous visits to Elrond's House, but when she turned back to him he glimpsed for a moment the odd concern of one who is lost.

"Might you tell me if the lord of this home will welcome a stranger into his home for a short while?" she asked, and Legolas's eyebrows disappeared into his blonde hair.

"The Lord Elrond lives here." He said incredulously, bright stare fixed upon the strange elleth's narrow, slightly pinched face. How could she not know such a thing? "He will welcome you should you mean him no harm."

The violet-eyed elf regarded the Greenwood Prince for several long moments; her dark hair bunched into an odd bundle at the nape of her neck, and then sighed deeply, with all the graceless weariness of one who has traveled for many months.

"Then I will be welcomed." She said softly, and disappeared into the gates of Elrond's home with a soft word to the guards on duty. Legolas watched her for a brief moment, concerned by the grimness hardening her face into pale marble. Yet after she was out of sight he put the strange elleth from his mind just as he had done with the grey thoughts of his crumbling relationship with his lone parent, and continued to walk in the forest, his spirit lifted by the presence of the swaying trees.

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Some hours later he returned to Rivendell to find that Elrohir and Elladan had been searching for him since they had learned who had delivered Estel to his bath. The twins met him at the gate, identical expressions of wrath on their faces. He could not stop the grin at the sight of the infuriated pair. Ever since he had first met the tall, dark-haired sons of Elrond in his childhood, he had delighted in teasing them, and they him.

"Why, hello." He greeted them cheerfully, noting the twig caught in Elladan's hair with a hint of amusement. They had searched very hard for their baby brother, then. "It has been quite a while since we have last seen each other, hasn't it?"

"Less time for you than for us, I'd assume, given that you're laughing at us already." One of the two grumbled. "When did you snatch Estel from us?"

Legolas bounced past the pair of twins with a bright smile, the mischief in his bright gaze gleaming merrily.

"I swept him up onto a nearby roof just as he rounded a corner, and you two passed beneath with nary a suspicion of my presence." He said mirthfully. "And I must say the thought of such a trick delighted him so that he barely struggled against me when I carried him to your father."

Now the twins looked slightly impressed, and Legolas knew he was out of the danger zone for the moment. Doubtless the pair would retaliate at their leisure while he stayed in Imladris, but long years had given him a great adeptness for avoiding their ploys, and so he had a chance of evading them yet.

Elrohir let out a great breath of air and took the Wood-elf's arm, his face alight with something akin to reverence.

"Thank the Valar!" he exclaimed. "You have managed to coax Estel into taking a bath quietly – It is a near miracle!"

Elladan nudged his brother with a tad more force than was needed.

"Oh, you make yourself into a fool with such drama." He said, his tone derisive, and Legolas smiled again at his friends' antics, patting Elrohir on the upper arm with a sort of patronizing kindness spread across his face.

"Not to worry, both of you." He said, his voice dripping with sweetness. "One cannot expect such dunces as yourselves to understand how to properly care for a child."

For a moment the twins seemed not to understand that Legolas had insulted them, and then as one they railed against his teasing comment.

"Why, you upstart princeling!" One of the two cried, and they leapt for the laughing prince, chasing him into their father's gardens when he ducked through their outstretched arms. And from the balcony of his library, Elrond watched, a smile on his lips, a she-elf with violet eyes standing humbly by his side, fire burning in the wry look upon her chiseled face.

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Reviews make me happy...(please leave some? Hannon le!)

~avtorSola


	3. Narwen

**A/N:** As I said...slow updates

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She said her name was Narwen with a trickle of mirth, for few would have trouble believing her claim when her dark purple glare blazed so potently in her eye sockets. Even Elrond had difficulty holding her gaze, although he never yielded his ground, and for that she nurtured the utmost respect for the Elven-lord. Sanctuary was given, and despite her refusal to answer many of his questions, he also bade her dwell peacefully in Imladris for as long as she wished.

For her part, she only stayed idle a short while before the vast longing to practice her craft came upon her like a breaking thunderstorm, and when the faint chiming of her hammers began to ring in her ears at all times of the day she knew that she must leave Rivendell's serene refuge. She had work to do and without her aid given to the forested realm, the Wood-Elves would fall. So she took her leave of the Elven-lord and thanked him deeply for his hospitality, bowing and shouldering the large leather satchel on her back without even the slightest inkling of its weight. Two knives were given to her, and with gratitude she belted them at her waist before setting out from the sheltered bliss of the Last Homely House.

When she was but an hour from the grey stone gates, hoofbeats thundered behind her, slowing gradually to a walk as they approached. A dappled grey animal came up next to her, and seated on it was the blonde ellon she had so carelessly knocked over on her way into Imladris. He peered down at her curiously, the mithril circlet on his head slipping slightly forward. Another ellon rode up behind him – this one she knew naught of, save that his curly, coarse red hair was characteristic of the Silvan race.

"My lady, whither are you bound?" the blonde elf asked her graciously. She looked up at him, her violet stare piercing.

"I make for Eregion first." She murmured softly, the roughness of her voice still unquenched, even after her stay in Elrond's house. "And from there, I am bound for King Thranduil's realm."

The blonde elf smiled at her then, a gay light in his face.

"Why do you not go with us to my father's kingdom first?" he invited. "My companion and I are heading that way, and there is safety in numbers these days. I would not see a lady wandering about without any to help her should orcs attack."

Her lips quirked up, but there was an elusive pain in her heart which seemed to prevent the action from becoming a full smile. Her dark tresses, an odd shade which seemed a deep, dark brown in direct sunlight but pitch black at all other times, were once again tied in a low bundle at the nape of her neck. She considered the blonde elf for a long moment, watching the sparkling light of his spirit through his skin, and she knew then from where the fairness of his face had grown. He was genuine through to his core, and despite the fact that he had never seen the light of the Trees of Valinor his feä shone nearly as bright as one of the Vanyar lords. He had a strength she had not oft seen in elves or men, a strength to keep his joy and optimism alive against the tides of Sauron and his darkness, and it rekindled her long-shaded hopes.

"I do appreciate your offer. It is very kind." She said, the hard lines of her narrowed elven face softening somewhat. "But I am afraid my business in Eregion is pressing."

The blonde elf nodded in understanding, then dismounted his horse and bowed to her, his companion following suit.

"I am afraid we were never properly introduced while in Lord Elrond's House." He said cheerily. "I am Legolas Thranduilion, and my companion is Ereduial Aldamenion. We hail from Greenwood the Great, though I suppose it is better known as Mirkwood in these times."

The she-elf nodded cordially to both of them and bowed back.

"I am Narwen, for the moment." She replied softly. "Though I shall likely use another name when we meet again."

Legolas raised a slender eyebrow, and took the reins of his horse, choosing for he and his escort to walk alongside the lady Narwen until the time came for them to part ways. For all the hardness of Narwen's face and the calloused nature of her hands, he rather thought that she did not look like much of a warrior. Ereduial walked slightly behind the pair, keeping his Silvan eyes trained upon the surrounding wood and his hand upon the hilt of one of his knives.

"Why shall you change names?" he asked softly. She gazed at him, the intimidation of her nightlike violet glance swiftly forcing him to back away. But then she hoisted her satchel over her shoulder again, adjusting the strap, and answered.

"The Enemy shall search for me." She told the Woodland elf softly, her tone almost a whisper. "And he must not find me."

The road they had been following parted in two ways then, and without warning Narwen placed a warm hand upon Legolas's high cheek, her violet stare burning.

"May Iluvatar guide you wherever you may walk, Legolas Thranduilion." She intoned, her harsh countenance grating on the prince's eyes. "For you will be needed ere the end draws near."

Legolas gaped in stricken awe at the elleth before him and suddenly a vision of two branches, one of shining silver, the other of radiant gold flashed into the depths of his spirit. For several yearlong seconds he swore he could feel the earth's breath puffing warm and soothing onto the back of his neck, and then the scene dissolved in fire as white as the purest snows and Narwen stepped away, a strange expression on her face. Ereduial came between her and the prince, unnerved by the exchange between the eerie exchange between his liege and the unknown elleth. But Narwen merely bade both of the elves farewell and disappeared down the long stone road to Eregion.

Narwen traveled in secrecy for many days until at last a line of ancient holly trees greeted her with dark leaves and bright berries; though the red was slow to dawn in the bitter young fruits. With a deep breath, she inhaled the fading scent of those who had once lived there, those Noldor who had so long ago made the Rings of Power under Sauron's counsel.

"Ai, Celebrimbor!" she wailed, a lament made beautiful by the harsh sorrowing in her voice. "Ai, how I failed you! I trusted in those whom I should not have trusted, and you were slain."

She knelt on a grassy knoll overlooking the wide plain. In the distance she could see the crumbled ruins of what had once been an elven realm of fair beauty, one she had once loved beyond all thought or feeling. And, with a voice as slow as the wide river, deep and fair, which the Ainur had sung before the making of Eä, she lamented the loss of such beauty. For many hours she sang, the roughness of her tone cracking the bells with which her voice tolled grief, and the wild wind and gentle grasses wove about her in knots, soothing the longing in her soul. And slowly, with memories wakening like young children from a deep sleep, the trees and grass remembered the Elves of Eregion who had dwelt there long before, and the ripple spread throughout the land until the sorrows of stone, plant, and soaring winds alike melded with the effervescent voice bubbling with breaking grief in their midst.

Slowly the sun sank and the moon rose only to find that Narwen's song had swelled to one of unimaginable anguish, a rich, layered melody written in Ancient Quenya. The howling of the wind accompanied her voice, lacing through each word that left her thin lips with furthered sadness. And all Eregion sang with her, the softening voices of the trees and stones sweet amongst the passionate depth of the elleth's mourning. Yet when the sun rose again, Narwen was silent, and she stood, her grieving unfinished but the memory of those whom she had loved impressed once again upon the fair, empty land in which she had chosen to dwell.

She walked alone in Hollin for several more weeks, until the coldness of winter's bite had set in and she settled into the shelter she had chosen in the ruins of the land which still held her heart. For many days she labored, carving the crumbled stone into manageable blocks and using the small pieces to fill in the gaps between the walls of the tumbled tower which had become her home. Always did the birds fly to her aid, bringing straw and long grasses to her home and weaving them into her masonry to prevent the cold wind from whistling through. At long last the small turret was restored, the ivy creeping across its fallen surface persuaded with gentle song and coaxing words to creep across the gaps in the broken roof, the wide waxy leaves sheltering the inside from rain and snow. Against one wall she piled small stones and sealed them together with clay, trailing a long chimney of hardened mud up to the nearest opening in the cracked stone wall, and despite the paucity of her luxuries, her newly fixed home possessed all the more beauty for its sorrowful loneliness. And Eregion rejoiced, for an elleth lived there once again, and come spring the land flowered bright and beautiful as it had not for an age.

When the last snow melted and the first blossoms of spring dotted the fair landscape Narwen began her work, and in that humble hearth she kindled her fire at long last and opened her satchel.

The tools of her smithy gleamed bright in the scarlet light of her flame, and the smoke drifted in slow spirals from the makeshift chimney she had constructed from daubed mud and stone. With a smile on her face and the beginning of redemption in her heart, she sang softly in the firelight, and pounded the silver mithril in her furnace until it glowed gold with the heat of her untouched soul. The stones given to her by land and sea were set in caskets of gold and silver and sealed tightly against all evil, and she kissed each of the stones, tears rolling from her violet stare. The Noldor had always been ordained to live in Middle Earth while the Darkness grew and waned as it would, and the sorrow of their people made her weep more often than not.

But she had sailed against the tide, and now she would with Iluvatar's blessing make Middle Earth once again safe for the Elves even in the midst of the rising Dominion of Men.

" _Alas, Celebrimbor, your fate was mine own fault. I believed Annatar to be aiding in the purpose Iluvatar gave me, and yet you died through my folly. For your sake, I shall finish the work I had given to you to start."_

And so she wove purity and solace and strength into the metal she worked unceasingly, never pausing in the pace of her hammer, and Eregion swelled with joy while she worked within the fair borders. Annatar had no part in the knowledge of her own heart, and since it had been to him whom she had first taught the making of Rings, it was through him the Nine and Seven were tainted, yet that which _she_ could make would serve only to strengthen the Three beyond the One's control.

She ate little during the long years of her work, but she sang often, the sorrow in her voice giving way to unbridled hope and healing, and slowly the small mithril circle in her forge cooled to radiant silver, and she set it with chips of emerald and jasper, carving twined leaves into the surface of the metal with calm fingers. She sang odes to Manwe, Ulmo, and Yavanna over the small band, dousing it in clear spring water to chill the blazing heat of the fired mithril, and her voice rang in Eru's name as she sealed the power within.

"Elbereth! Ai, Elbereth!" she cried, and her blood burned, Sauron's anger piercing her through like the sharp pain of a knife, for now he perceived that she would work against him, and he twisted sharply at the bonds holding her power chained to the One. "Ai, Elbereth, I go to make Iluvatar's will be fulfilled in Middle Earth!"

The darkness recoiled from Elbereth's name, a soundless shriek of rage filling Narwen's pointed ears, but with cold lips and a trembling smile of triumph she lifted the Ring above her head and smiled. Sixteen years had gone into the making of such a pretty, small trinket, and the knowledge of this gave her the strength she needed for the naming.

"Galadhya." She whispered. And so Three became Four with an echoing chorus of Narwen's song, and all Eregion sang with her.

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Reviews help me figure out how to write/what plot points need to be set aside permanently.

~avtorSola


	4. Twisted Purpose

The forging of Galadhya was scarce felt by any who lived in Middle Earth or Valinor save the possessors of the Three, and through them the shudder of wholesome fire, like the taste of honeysuckle on a summer's day, crisped keenly. The Rings on their fingers gleamed brightly for the naming of the Ring of Forest, and their hearts lifted though they knew not why. The Shadow which had been encroaching upon their lands and their hearts was no longer creeping close, and even seemed to be retreating.

Elrond looked to the sky above, reaching up for a distant wind with Vilya glinting bright on his hand in the light of the noonday sun, and Glorfindel watched in silence as the Lord of Rivendell contemplated the new life flooding Vilya's tenure, the unsullied new flame kindled in the heart of the Three's conjoined power. Below, Estel jested with his elven brothers, his sweet childhood long a thing of the past. Now he was a fully grown man, just twenty years of age, and though Elrond had finally revealed the truth of his lineage to his foster son, the human boy had become a noble man quite worthy of the title by his own merit. The two elf-lords watched the brothers in their play with quiet amusement masking their worry.

"Mellon nin, what has happened?" Glorfindel asked softly, placing a hand on Elrond's outstretched arm. "Something troubles you- Nay, do not deny it! It is plain on your face."

Elrond sighed deeply and turned away from the windows, bathing himself in the musky scent of old, wise books that permeated his great library. Glorfindel followed yet remained silent, knowing that Elrond would divulge his misgivings should he deem it wise. The polished stone and wood clicked against the heels of their light boots, and slowly the tides stilled and the raging uncertainty of the world dimmed somewhat. Akin to one soft breeze in the midst of a gale, Elrond felt some inkling of the deep sorrow of the Noldor removed forever from him, and he nearly gasped aloud.

"The darkness is falling back somehow." He wondered breathlessly, and Glorfindel beside him stood in awe. "Some catalyst has been plunged into the fading power of the Three, weakening the One's dominion over them, and I begin to know hope once more."

Glorfindel's keen glance gleamed bright and wise as he came to stand by his friend's side, and together they marveled at the new light coursing through Vilya's sapphire. Faint though it was, there now glowed an unusual brilliance in the heart of the blue stone akin to the light of a flickering fire, at once comforting and useful. Then the dimmest notes of a gently sorrowing melody drifted in through the open window, curling round elven ear-tips. Slowly, the two elves found themselves listening to the unintelligible words rising and falling in whispers on the air, the song's white grief rollicking and beautiful despite how quiet it was.

For the remainder of the day the song rang in soft murmurs around the halls of Rivendell, and far away in Lothlorien the Lady Galadriel gazed in awe at Nenya's white flame on her fingers, the soft voice filling her heart with a sort of burning relief from the slow sorrow she had felt since departing Valinor. Celeborn at her side strained his ears, so curious did he find the mysterious melody to be. And in Mirkwood, a blonde prince and his father sat spellbound by the sweetness ringing near inaudibly in the halls of their home. For as the day withered into night the song grew more potent and the tune changed from one of fading sadness to one of sparkling confidence and undying faith, a bright White hope undimmed by all the Black despair on Arda. And soon all the Elves in both Valinor and Middle Earth hearkened unto that voice.

By the time the moon rose the song had long faded into the echoing wind, and with widened eyes the Lady of the Golden Wood turned to her husband, an expression of deepest joy upon her fair face, the type of joy which is born from melancholy untold to gleam bright on the brow. Around her Lothlorien shimmered in gold and silver, the elves star-struck on their talans, Celeborn coming up to loop his hands over his wife's.

"It was hope." She murmured softly to him. "That song was one of light within darkness. What I would give to meet the singer who held all of those who cleave to the good in this world so enthralled."

* * *

Over the Misty Mountains, in her humble home built amidst the ruins of Eregion's glory, Narwen stood, Galadhya on a silver chain about her neck, and shouldered her pack. The embers of her forge were silent and cold, yet she carried her fire with her, and the light of her hope set in metal at the base of her satchel. The twin daggers belted at her hips had been sharpened until they could cut through bone and rock alike. She only hoped she would not have to use them in the coming years.

With a last soft smile at the lush land about her – for Eregion had bloomed while she dwelled there, and the company that the stones gifted by the land and sea had slowly healed her of her inability to smile – she walked away from her home, treading on overgrown paths to keep her solitude intact. For sixteen years she had spoken to no elf, man, or dwarf, though she had seen some from afar, and now the first of her tasks was complete. The second and more arduous of the two attempted insofar was at hand.

The wild beauty of Eregion yielded into barren flats of dull grass and stunted trees, and through this terrain Narwen hiked. She slept wrapped in blankets on the cold ground, and ate crusted bread and dried fruits for her meals, drinking only the pure spring water kept stored in her canteen. For many days she traveled thus, the Misty Mountains kept firmly on her right, her destination firmly ensconced in her mind, and while Galadhya whispered soothing peace and healing about her the fouler creatures of Middle Earth were afraid and stayed away.

Finally, upon the morn of one bright fall day, she came again to Rivendell. At the gates stood two elves, dark-haired and solemn, each with swords belted about their waists, clad in silver and gold armor. She sighed a weary groan, and approached them, lowering her hood to reveal her face. They started at the sight of her, dark eyes flicking to the points of her ears and roaming back over the bones of her face with a certain incomprehension. She would have gone pink had she not known what the two guards were staring at.

Elves had a reputation for being creatures of immense beauty, no matter who they were, yet she seemed to directly defy such a characterization. Her nose and chin were narrow, her lips thin and pale, and her violet eyes, while large and rimmed with long eyelashes, burned in her face with unnatural intensity. She was not ugly – for few living creatures truly are ugly, unless they are also evil – but she was not beautiful either. Her hair was thick and dark, but it had none of the prized wave which the elves so loved. Her figure was slender, but she seemed to have no curves beneath the burnished ruby tunic she wore over her loose, dark brown pants. Yet in spite of all this, a fire seemed to smolder within her, and it was this that held the gaze.

"May I enter Imladris?" she asked them quietly, and they flushed together, realizing that they had been caught looking at her in puzzlement. The one on the left bowed to her.

"Of course, my lady." He said, his tone glowing with embarrassment. She turned her eerie gaze upon him, but spoke to them both, her voice as rough as ever, though now a kind of sweetness had seeped through the crackling stone.

"Do not be ashamed of your confusion." She forgave softly. "I realize that my face is harsher cut than many others, yet it was not so before the destruction of Eregion. Then I was an elf like any other."

The guards gaped at her in a mixture of horror and pity, and the one on the right came up to her with little sense of the confusions he'd once felt.

"My deepest condolences, my lady." He offered gently. "Have you lived alone there all this time?"

Narwen felt a sort of emotional warmth surround her, and the slightest hint of a smile came to her face. For a moment, the guards stared, for in that brief span of time the hardness vanished from her face and she nearly glowed with the sweet fire of beauty present in all young elleths. But then the smile fell from her lips and the harshness was back.

"Oh, no." she said, her tone good-natured. "I have lived there alone for many years, but after Celebrimbor's death I left and wandered the far northern glaciers for a good many centuries. But as of late I have remembered my dear friend better by dwelling there."

The guard raised his eyebrows, but sorrow was still present on his fair face.

"You were Celebrimbor's friend? The Ringsmith?" he asked. Narwen nodded, her gaze growing misty with grief.

"Aye." She whispered. "I loved him like my own brother despite his misdeeds. He only tried to do right by his people, yet his father's cursed oath…"

The guards looked at each other, and with a nod from his fellow, the one on the right came forward and pulled off his helmet, a sort of dark sorrow in his gaze. He offered Narwen his arm.

"I am Elladan Elrondion, my lady." He introduced himself, his tone gentle with compassion. "I will escort you to my father, if you so wish it."

Narwen smiled sadly, and though this expression did not illuminate her pale face with radiant loveliness as her last smile had, she seemed softer then.

"Thank you." She replied. "I would speak with your father again before the tide turns. My name is Narwen."

Elladan shot a quick glance at his brother, then left with the slight elleth tucked neatly under his wing. She was nearly as tall as he was, he noticed with a smile, but her frame was as wispy as a willow-leaf. Only her arms had muscle, and there alone she seemed solid and powerful. And now that he was seeing her as a survivor of the waste of Eregion, he could see hints of the beauty that she had once possessed.

"If I may ask, my lady…" he began, and flinched inwardly when her purple gaze turned unblinkingly upon him. "…Why do you dwell alone? Many of those who lived in Eregion fled to Valinor or Imladris after Sauron's treachery."

Narwen's work-worn fingers twitched visibly, the tips of her ears flicking in something akin to momentary panic before a stubborn set came to twist her jaw. Her eyes narrowed into thin slits of glinting amethyst.

"Don't question me so. It is not your place." She rebuked sharply, and Elladan winced at the comment, cursing his curiosity. He should've known better. He dipped his head contritely.

"I am sorry, Lady Narwen." He apologized. "I forgot myself."

The she-elf at his side shook her head, the thick bunch of dark hair tied at the nape of her neck bouncing erratically.

"It is no bother, my lord." She said graciously. The reflection of the moon overhead flashed in her wan cheeks. "And please, don't call me Lady. I am just Narwen."

Elladan smiled then and the pair went up the steps to Elrond's house, their footsteps light.

"Then you must call me Elladan." He replied easily, weaving through the airy passages of his father's home until he came upon the door to Elrond's book-lined study and knocked. "And you must call my brother Elrohir – preferably without him realizing that you know his name from this conversation."

Narwen's dark eyebrows arched upwards, a quirk at the corner of her lips.

"Ah, what do we have here?" she asked slowly. "I did not take you for a mischievous elfling."

Elladan put his hand over his heart and gasped, but he was smiling, and Narwen knew he was amused.

"Ai, how you wound me, Narwen." He protested. Narwen could feel the quirk of her mouth deepening into a smile, and she may have laughed had the door not opened then, revealing Elrond's stern countenance. The elf-lord seemed surprised to find his son there, and even more surprised to see the violet-eyed elleth at his side.

"Elladan?" He asked. "Aren't you on guard duty?"

Narwen felt the tall elf next to her tense slightly, and when he replied his voice was somewhat rigid.

"Elrohir is currently guarding the gate, and I will return to him momentarily." He replied calmly. "However, the lady Narwen wished to speak to you, and after hearing that she came from Eregion…"

Elrond's eyebrow rose, but he nodded in understanding and stood aside to let the she-elf enter his study, his gaze fixed upon her.

"Thank you, Elladan." He said quietly to his son. "Did she tell you why she wanted to speak to me?"

The younger elf shook his head slowly.

"Nay, she did not." He murmured. "Only that she wanted to speak with you 'before the tide turns.' She seems agitated."

Elrond frowned but let his son depart without another word, and between the shafts of the setting sunlight illuminating his study he thought that he saw a flash of white fire upon Narwen's brow. She was facing the window, watching the sunset with a gentle sort of appreciation, the golden rays turning the violet of her gaze to warm brown. For a long moment the pair stood in silence, both waiting for the words which crept out slowly, like molasses.

"It was not supposed to be such a grim tale." Narwen said finally, her tone soft. "Middle Earth was never intended to be abandoned by the Valar and Elves alike."

Elrond's eyes narrowed, but he listened nonetheless. The last person who had attempted to turn the elves from their chosen sorrows had posed as a friend at first and later betrayed them in the forging of the One Ring. So he would listen to the elleth – but he may not heed her words.

"Oh?" he said softly, his tone dangerously skeptical, and without warning Narwen whirled round, the violet light of her stare glowing.

"I understand your distrust, my lord, but do not fear me yet. Few on Middle Earth know my true name – and I think that you are one of them." She said, her voice a whisper. "For my blood was twined into the making of the One, and now I am powerless against the very being whom I once called my right-hand. Only the Wise know of my existence now."

And suddenly the elf-lord understood, the rush of terrified joy surging through the room like the wild thrashing of Osse's seas. He froze, staring openly at the hardened woman before him.

"Ai Valar…" he whispered. "I heard tell of your intent, but when Sauron rose to power it was assumed that you were slain – cast down in ruin – and the effort to reclaim Middle Earth deserted!"

The dust motes alight in the gleaming sun seemed like diamonds of fire glinting about Narwen's slender form, and she smiled her wry, broken smile, the one which drew no cheer to her face.

"You are correct." She replied quietly. "I am but a shade of myself. While the One Ring is still made, I cannot raise my hand against the darkness. Already Sauron knows that I will rebel against him, and he will stifle my power whenever I strike at his heart. But he cannot prevent me from giving my aid to you and your kin."

Elrond simply looked at the eternally youthful lass before him, and then he knew.

"You were the singer." He accused simply. "Not two months ago, when I felt hope once again kindled in my soul by a lay in ancient Quenya."

Narwen inclined her head, the sharp line of her jaw tense with sadness and worry. She sighed, the crackling pop of a campfire frizzing her voice.

"Yes." She murmured and it seemed that even the books were listening. "That was my voice, and that was the flame of my power which you felt reignite…"

Here she gestured vaguely at Elrond's right hand, silently indicating where Vilya glowed upon the elf's slender finger. His expression cleared, the lines of care and stress worn into his brow disappearing with the revelation of such a fact. A bird chirped its fluttering song on a branch outside the window.

"You would aid us despite the pain it may cause you?" he asked quietly. Narwen sighed, rolling her shoulders, and opened her mouth.

" _Four Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,_

 _Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,_

 _Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,_

 _One for the White King in fair golden home,_

 _In the Land of Mirëndor, where the Shadows died,_

 _One Ring to guide them all, One Ring to lead them,_

 _One Ring to heal them all and from all darkness free them!_

 _In the Land of Mirëndor, where the Shadows died."_

Then she fell utterly silent and, looking up at a stunned Elrond, allowed herself to soften. She reached out, placed a hand on his shoulder, and let the burn of her warm soul crack the chipping, melting ice cloaking the elf-lord's otherwise composed expression. For a moment there was a heavy quiet, like the thick cloak of snow upon a mountaintop, the

"That was the verse Iluvatar sang in my dreams." She told him then, her voice as rough as ever. "And so it must be. Will you accept my aid, in whatever form it comes?"

Elrond dipped his head in acknowledgement of her words for a long moment, saying nothing, then sighed deeply.

"Your assistance will be welcomed, my lady." He said gravely. "But I must ask that you forewarn those who make up the White Council of your plans before implementing them. We would neither wish to jeopardize you, nor for you to jeopardize us by mutual ignorance."

Narwen's thin lips pressed together tightly, but she made no other sign of her displeasure. Finally, she relaxed, a slight chuckle drifting sourly from between her cream teeth.

"I suppose I will not begrudge you a warning." She said. "But do not expect me to align with all of your wishes. And know this; there will be times when I act when you think I should not. And there will be times when I do nothing whilst you struggle. Yet ultimately my goal is to make Arda safe for both elves and men."

Elrond's wise, dark gaze narrowed, but reluctantly he accepted the odd she-elf's tattered pledge of her allegiance.

"Then you will gain my confidence." He replied calmly. "Forgive me if it is slow to fully come, however."

With a smoldering violet stare akin to the molten glory of Oroduin, Narwen considered the statement for a long, tense moment. Then with an elusive glint of pleasure in her eye, she bowed and left Elrond to ponder over her presence.

* * *

Thoughts?


End file.
